


Fire and Ice

by beadedslipper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jealous!Cullen, Jealous!Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beadedslipper/pseuds/beadedslipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor is feeling a little possessive of her Commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire

Halamshiral was many things, particularly to a minor Orlesian noble who had never been important enough to even travel to Val Royeux. It was awe-inspiring, gilt glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. It was a symbol of pride, the crux of civilization, or so she had been taught to believe almost before she could speak. It was romantic, like something out of one of Varric’s tales, all hushed whispers and fine manners.

Now that she was here though, the Inquisitor realized that, above all of these things, it was nothing so much as a Maker-damned viper’s nest.

There was a thrice-damned assassin running around here, yet she had to smile and simper at all these snobbish, milk-skinned courtiers who had likely never even seen a demon, let alone cut one down with its claws inches from their throat. The conniving Queen, her traitor of a cousin, and that decidedly shifty elf were all vying for the Inquisition’s support in a terrible dance to try and get one over on the other. She didn’t understand why in the world they wasted the time when there was a giant hole in the sky. Why couldn’t they all just pledge support to the Inquisition? It wasn’t like the threat didn’t affect all of them.

She had never been very good at the Game.

With all of this on her plate, she should have had more than enough to keep her occupied. Which is why it came as such a surprise when a hot, primal surge of rage overcame her after catching a brief glimpse of her…the Inquisition’s Commander surrounded by eyelash-batting courtiers.

It didn’t matter that he looked decidedly uncomfortable, or that, when he refused a dance with a young noblewoman, it was clear that his response was rote at this point.

She barely realized she was moving before, suddenly, she was at his side, having slipped through his little coterie. She slid her arm through his and promptly began dragging him off after her, throwing a, “Pardon me, but I have urgent matters to discuss with the Commander,” over her shoulder, in the off chance it might keep them from being thrown out.

She led him out onto a nearby balcony. If he uttered a word of protest at her abrupt handling, she couldn’t hear it over the ringing in her ears and the heat in her chest. As soon as they were through the doors she released his arm, heading straight for the railing and bracing her hands on it. The sound wasn’t so oppressive out here and the cool air felt marvelous on her overheated skin. She took deep breaths of it through her nose, trying to slow the burn in her blood.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen asked. She turned to see him watching her in confusion, his eyes bright with concern. His hands were folded neatly in front of him and she couldn’t help noticing them, gloveless as they were. They were strong hands, capable hands, hands that could do many things, like touching her shoulder or brushing her hair away from her face, or running down her back to squeeze her…what was wrong with her?

She was jealous. Andraste preserve her. She had no right to be jealous. He was her commander. Nothing more. He certainly didn’t feel…that way about her, those short, speculative glances and that adorable stutter and those tentative, sweet kisses on the ramparts notwithstanding. And she…didn’t…not feel that way about him. Maker’s breath.

“Is everything all right?” Cullen asked again. She realized she should really say something.

“Oh…uh, yes. I’m sorry. I don’t know what…I mean…”

He smirked, not unkindly. “Usually I’m the one tripping over my words when we talk Inquisitor.”

She huffed a laugh. “Yes. Well. You looked like you needed an escape and I didn’t like…” His eyes snapped to hers with pinpoint focus. She cleared her throat. “I mean I thought I’d give you a hand.”

For a moment she thought she saw disappointment in his eyes. But she could have imagined it since his smile came right back and he inclined his head. “I appreciate the rescue.”

“Anytime. I mean, of course.” She cleared her throat again, desperately hoping he wasn’t noticing the blush warming her cheeks. “I should…get back. We’ve an assassin to catch after all.” She made for the door, turning her body to slip by him. He shifted to watch her leave and she had almost made it, almost, when her traitor body decided to disregard her better judgment again.

And it was all his fault. All his fault for those lips and that appealing scar. She would attest to her dying day that it was all his fault that she whirled, grabbing him by the collar of his fancy new coat and yanking him down by the neck to press her lips, rather violently, to his. For a brief moment she reassured herself with the cool press of his lips and the pleasing irregularity of his scar against her. Then she pushed him away just as quickly, catching a brief glimpse of the shell-shocked expression on his face before she ducked off the balcony and back into the ball.

She didn’t look back until she slipped out into the vestibule and up the stairs, pressing herself into a dark corner. She pressed hands to her burning cheeks, her eyes wide.

“Maker’s breath.”


	2. And Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen notices how many people love her after the Inquisitor's strange behavior at Halamshiral

The Inquisitor was home, er, at Skyhold. She had been for nearly a week now, an unprecedented stretch of time to go without killing a demon or a bandit or a corrupted Templar. Instead she had been seeing to paperwork and attending to diplomatic correspondence, reviewing the repairs still to be made and spending an inordinate amount of time near the training rings, getting to know their soldiers and casting inscrutable glances at him whenever she thought he wasn’t watching. She was also taking some much-needed time to relax. Here. On the other side of the bar. Surrounded by her companions and admirers. Where he couldn’t help but watch her hungrily from afar.

Cullen couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased to wake up each morning and see her, safe and sound, in the war room for their daily status reports. It took a weight off of his chest that he hadn’t quite realized was there until now. She was always gone and he was always worried, especially since their conversation on the ramparts those weeks ago. He supposed he might worry a little less if he were able to accompany her on her excursions but that was just wishful thinking. He was needed here. The restriction chafed, particularly with the knowledge that there were other people that could, and did, protect her in his stead.

Like Dorian, who, flirtatious and cultured as he was, Cullen would have considered a true threat had the man made no secret of his and the Iron Bull’s highly acrobatic extracurricular activities.

Or like Sera, who, with her strange quirkiness, took every opportunity to drape herself across the Inquisitor in the most lewd manner possible, just to see her blush.

Or even Blackwall, stoic and firm and grudgingly approving of the Inquisitor, something Cullen knew she craved, a result of her estrangement with her own father. But Blackwall wasn’t her father and his admiring comments to the Inquistor were not restricted to fatherly words of encouragement and advice.

Or…or like that soldier. That one right there who would find himself on a month of sentry duty in the high mountain pass if he didn’t remove his arm from around the Inquisitor’s shoulders right now.

Cullen’s blood went ice-cold, a chill coming over him like after the sweats from his lyrium-withdrawal had calmed. Everything went very clear and quiet, like being out on the snow-covered slopes early in the morning.

She threw back her head, laughing at something the soldier whispered in her ear, revealing the long line of her throat, all the way down to where the collar of her tunic provided an excellent glimpse of her décolletage. One that the soldier wasted no time appreciating.

Cullen’s fists clenched and, without much thought or hesitation, he found himself striding across the length of the tavern, not quite registering it when she gently shrugged the soldier’s arm away. He came to a stop at the table where the Inquisitor sat with her companions, glaring down at them, at the soldier in particular.

The soldier shivered, apparently sensing the sudden chill in the room. He turned his head, blanching when he saw the thunderous look on his commander’s face.

“I think you have duties to attend to solider. One’s that you should address. Immediately.” He said coldly.

The soldier gulped, jumping to his feet and casting a hasty excuse over his shoulder.

“Cullen?” The Inquisitor asked. He could hear the concern in her voice, but he couldn’t look at her. He took a deep breath, feeling like icicles were stuck in his lungs.

“My apologies. Inquisitor.” He nodded deferentially. Then he turned on his heel and left the tavern. The air was crisp but not as cold as he felt inside.

He didn’t hear her coming after him until she called his name.

“Cullen!” She called. “Cullen, wait!” He felt a small hand on his arm and his stopped walking. She came to a stop in front of him, trying to catch his eye. “What’s wrong?” She asked worriedly. He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t let her see the roil of emotion and confusion in his eyes.

She pressed a gentle hand to his cheek, tilting his head up until he had no choice but to look into her deep, lavender gaze. “Cullen?’ She asked again. At the sound of her quiet voice something in him snapped. He grabbed her, a little roughly, by the arm and dragged her into the alley between the tavern and the fortress wall. He pushed her up against the wall of the tavern and slammed his lips to hers.

She gasped at the sudden contact and he pressed his advantage, opening his mouth to twine his tongue with hers. She immediately melted against him, pliant and willing, one of her hands coming up to twine in the small hairs at the nape of his neck while the other grasped his bicep. His hands were firm on her waist, keeping her pressed between him and the wall. It was good, the heat of her body thawing the ice inside him, but it still wasn’t enough.

He raked a big hand down her side, wrapping it around her leg just below her knee, and hitching her thigh around his hip. She whimpered into his mouth, her hand trailing from his bicep to scrabble at his waist, struggling for purchase against his armor. Why in Maker’s name did he insist on wearing it everywhere he went?

His mouth trailed from her lips to her neck, kissing the tender skin there. She arched her neck, trying to encourage him, but he was only reminded of the way she arched her neck when that soldier made her laugh. With a growl he buried his teeth in her neck, helplessly shunting his hips against hers. She keened, her hand fisting too-tight in his hair for comfort.

The sound broke through the haze of fog in his brain and, with a gasp and a muffled curse, he broke away. He stumbled a couple steps from her to press against the stone of the wall, but there was still barely a foot between them.

For long moments they both breathed heavily. He began to realize what he had done, enough to feel properly embarrassed and a little bit ashamed for practically forcing himself on her.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what in the world brought that on? And where can I get more of it?”

He blushed, grateful for the darkness. “I…I’m sorry…I don’t know what came over me…Maker’s breath…”

“Yeah well, feel free to let that come over you any time.”

He looked up in surprise, taking in her heaving chest, her flushed cheeks, and the way she was leaning against the wall as if it was the only thing holding her up. He realized, with some satisfaction, that she was…aroused by his aggression. Oh, that felt better than it should. And, oddly, put him in mind of her strange behavior during the ball at Halamshiral.

His eyes snapped to her to see her watching him with a calculating look. He could see her putting the pieces together in her head. Normally he admired her quick wit, but right now he wished she weren’t quite so insightful. He saw the moment she figured it out because her eyes widened.

“Holy…you were jealous!” She exclaimed.

He blushed harder, rubbing the back of his neck. “Perhaps I was a little…displeased with the way that recruit was ogling you.”

A wide smile bloomed across her face and he felt the sudden, insane urge to defend himself.

“Besides, Inquisitor, I believe it was you who was jealous first.”

She flinched, and her smile turned guilty. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He took a slow step towards her. “Oh? You mean you don’t remember your highly unusual behavior at Halamshiral?”

She ducked her head before seeming to find her will, meeting his eyes fiercely. “Okay, maybe I do, but at least I didn’t terrify any of the courtiers.”

“No, but you wanted to.” He retorted.

They stared each other down for an interminable minute before she broke the stalemate with helpless laughter. She doubled over with it, resting her hands on her knees. He watched her, confusion and a little concern warring for dominance. “Why are we arguing about this again?” She wondered.

He couldn’t help the smirk that teased his lips. “I…honestly don’t know.”

She straightened, catching her breath and wiping a tear from her eye. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight between us.” She took a step forward, away from the wall, and rested a hand on his armor, right above his heart. “You have nothing to be jealous about. Not one man, or woman, here could ever draw my eye when all I can think about is you.”

A rush of warmth thawed the last lingering ice from his veins and he cast an adoring gaze down at her. She bit her lip, a tad nervously, but a smile still graced her mouth. “Your turn.”

He cupped her head in his hand, bowing his head until they shared the same breath. “I am yours. Completely.” He vowed.

He sealed his promise with a kiss.


End file.
